


Coming Home

by Sourest_Cherry_Scone_Baby



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kinda Wayward Son Spoiler-ish, M/M, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Tooth Rotting Fluff, domestic husbands, like it's barely there, they have a daughter, very very very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-21 08:40:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourest_Cherry_Scone_Baby/pseuds/Sourest_Cherry_Scone_Baby
Summary: What's home? It's the place where your heart is, where you feel safe, where you feel warm, where you feel loved and where you have someone to hold on to when things are rough. That's home.And Basilton Snow-Pitch has a very beautiful home.





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Domestic fics are my kink and I love them so much, it's wild. So I had to write one :')
> 
> Also, a huge thanks to @Pai61 for Beta reading this and helping me improve this fic immensely. You're a queen, my dude.

**Baz**

Coming home is hard.

That's what I used to think, when I was a teenager and would finish another year at Watford, that coming home is hard.

But now, it isn't. It's effortless for me. It's something that I look forward to everyday.

I take the tube back home from my work, listening to my music while I mindlessly scroll through Instagram. Sometimes I pay attention to the people around me and I see young couples, making heart eyes at each other making me wonder how they'll end up. Sometimes I see a parent play with their child and that makes me smile. It reminds me of Natasha, my daughter, and her toothy smiles, happy giggles and incoherent babbles, and how she encircles my neck with her little arms and coos, while calling me unintelligible names. That makes me happy.

I leave the tube, and I have practically memorised the route from the station to my home. I can walk with my eyes closed and still reach home without getting lost. Ten steps forward, a turn to the right, ten more steps, a left turn. Fifteen steps and then I'm there. I'm climbing the two floors, then standing in front of the door.

I love this bit the most. Standing here, staring at the door for a bit and knowing what lies beyond it and yet, eagerly waiting to see it. (I'm an absolute sap. Don't remind me)

I take my wand out of my pocket and hold it out in front of me pointing it at the door, grinning widely to myself.

_ **“Open Sesame”** _

The door flies open and the wonderful aroma of dinner hits me, making me sigh with happiness before Simon appears in the doorway, looking equal parts exasperated and amused.

“You can use the key to get inside like a normal person.” He says, rolling his eyes and biting on his lower lip to keep himself from smiling. I lower my wand, putting it back in my pocket, just as he steps closer to me.

“Darling, I know you love the show.” I say, smirking and he rolls his eyes again. “It reminds you of my entrance in our eighth year and how your heart was going to beat out of your chest because you were so relieved and happy though you didn't even know.”

I'm quoting back the words Simon had told me once, ages ago. I know he regrets that because I'm ruthless when it comes to teasing him.

“Fuck off.” Which is his way of saying that he agrees with me but will not admit that. He is just as eloquent as he always was.

“Well-”

He cuts me off with a kiss, his hand gently sliding down my arm, till he holds my own cold, dead hands. Simon gives them a slight squeeze, his warm fingers threading through my own, like he can read my thoughts. His silent message is ringing through my mind.

_You're not dead, Baz. You're alive and I've never met anyone with more life. You're vibrant and you're a burning fire. You can't be dead_.

He's said that to me so many times that I've started to believe him, too.

When he pulls back, the smile he gives me is warmer than the sun and shows his slightly crooked and uneven teeth. I've never seen him give that smile to anyone else, not even Bunce. It's only mine.

It comes so naturally to us now, the touching, the kissing, the simple affectionate gestures. Those _smiles_.

It wasn't always like this. There was a time when I thought he hated me... hated the very sight of me, when I thought that our relationship couldn't be salvaged. But it got better and we were okay. More than okay, I might say, because Simon bloody Snow married me. We got an apartment together and made it our home. It's the perfect ending to his story, the one in which he rides towards a sunset with the love of his life, only it's not the ending. His story is still going on and we'll have more golden moments. It's a never ending tale and Simon Snow is still the hero.

And we are so happy.

It makes me feel warm from head to toe, like I just had a sour cherry scone (Simon's obsession with them has rubbed off on me but I know I'll never admit that out loud). Or it's like I just took a sip of pumpkin mocha breve, sweet and just perfect.

We are in London and happy, and I have a family of my own. It's not always a smooth ride, yes, we have our own ups and downs. Simon and I get into arguments, work sometimes stresses us out. Sometimes, Nat worries us.

But it's what makes our lives colourful. The joys and sorrows make our lives whole. It's a ride and I enjoy it to the fullest.

I had never thought I'd get a life like this, a life in which I'm happy and whole. But I have and I'll never stop feeling grateful for _this_.

“Had a good day at work, love?” He asks, snapping me out of my reverie and pulling me in, closing the door behind us. I shrug.

“You know how it is. Same old drama, same old shit. But no more talk of that now. How was your day? Did Nat trouble you much?”

“She's an absolute monster.” He grumbles, sounding exhausted. “Wouldn't let me breathe for a moment today. She's currently sleeping in her room. That's how I got enough time to cook dinner.”

I laugh, shaking my head and Simon cracks a smile too. He has taken a leave from his work to look after Nat and even though he loves that, he says that it's like battling a dragon all day long. Except this dragon is also very fragile, tiny and a talented wailer and Simon thinks that's an unfair advantage.

“I'll just go and see her and then we can eat?” I ask and Simon nods before kissing my cheek again.

I enter the nursery and sure enough, my little daughter is sleeping. Her tiny fists are balled up, clutching her blanket, and there's a thin line of drool on her face. I gently wipe it away with my thumb as I gaze at her adorable little sleeping face, her apple red cheeks, and how she puffs out small breaths of air and then, smiles in her sleep for a brief moment. I lean down and as softly as I possibly can, kiss the top of her head.

“I love you so much.” I whisper and stare at her for another moment, the love I harbour for her making my heart ache, but in a good way. With one last look at her, I leave her sleeping and slip quietly out of the room, cautiously avoiding the loose floorboard that creaks.

It takes me a while to freshen up a bit and by then, Simon has done cooking dinner. I come up from behind him and kiss his neck, wrapping my arms around his waist as he sets the kitchen back in order.

For a split second, he stills in my arms and a deep buried fear that I've unknowingly crossed a line by touching him flashes across my mind. But then he turns, loops his own arms around my neck and kisses me and that fear instantly melts away.

“I love you. You know that, yeah?” He asks, looking at me and smiling a little.

I nod and kiss his nose, making his small smile turn wider. “I know and I love you too.”

“Good. Don't forget that. That I love you.”

I nod again. I can't forget that. Simon insists on reminding me that as much as he can because he thinks he was a wanker for not telling me that for some time, though I've told him he shouldn't think like that. He was troubled, he was going through a lot of emotional upheaval. In no universe I'll not forgive him for pushing me out. I'd be a hypocrite for saying that I don't understand why he did that, after all shutting people out had been something I'd done a lot while growing up. I just wish I could do something to take away the guilt he feels for that now and again.

But I don't mind being told that he loves me. Everyday he does, he says those beautiful words to me, and I don't mind that at all.

Coming home is _beautiful_.

I think, as I eat my food (which is excellent, by the way) (mine always tastes horrible) and listen to my husband recount about his day with excitement and wild hand gestures, that coming home is the easiest thing ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me crying over my boys because ungh I want this, a happy ending with them together, to be Any Way The Wind Blows' epilogue.


End file.
